


In Limine

by pluto



Category: Phoenix Wright
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-12
Updated: 2010-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 20:40:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluto/pseuds/pluto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Diego has good news for Mia, and cooks supper; they get distracted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Limine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for for her request of "hot Mia/Diego." Thanks so much to for the beta! Any remaining errors are mine :) Also... if I've written het before, it was so long ago I don't remember it. So apologies for any clumsiness, here. D:

As she let herself into Diego's apartment, Mia Fey smelled something delicious.

"What's this?" she called, kicking off her high heels. The apartment was nice, but small; once she leaned past the separator marking off the entryway, she could see straight through the little living room into the kitchen. Diego was hard at work over the stove. "Did I forget our six-month anniversary or something?"

Diego put down the pan long enough to accept a quick kiss. "You've already slept through that one, Attorney Fey. You should try having more coffee."

"Whaaat?" Mia snagged a sliced red pepper from the cutting board and bit into it. She hit him in the upper arm. "Why didn't you remind me?"

"I like watching you squirm, kitten." He treated her to a trademark Diego grin before adding mushrooms to the pan.

"Meow," she said, wrinkling her nose a little. The nickname was sweet to her now, but she still didn't love it. When she'd first met Diego and he'd called her that she'd all but hissed at him. Mia Fey had hated Diego Armando the first time they met; she thought he was an arrogant, rude, sexist pig, and he didn't seem to like much about her other than the view down her shirt. She usually trusted her first impressions, but Diego... he was one of the few she'd gotten completely wrong.

"So what is it then?" She scooted him over and peered into the pan, breathed in a lungful of onions and wine and mushrooms and garlic. Her toes curled with the pleasure. Diego usually couldn't be bothered to make anything but coffee, but when he did endeavor to cook, he was pretty good at it. "Grossberg give you a bonus for the way you handled the Cantin case?"

"No, but he should have, shouldn't he?"

"Maybe." She smiled a bit impishly as she leaned back against the counter. "Except, that last little bluff was my idea."

He snorted, grinding pepper into the pot. "Half. I'll give you half-credit, kitten."

"Mm." She pretended to consider it. "All right. But that still leaves the question... why is Diego Armando Esquire lifting his manly hands in the kitchen?"

"Can't I just feel like cooking?"

"No," she said, and she watched him struggle to repress a smile, because she was right. "So, what have you got to say in your defense, Mr. Armando?"

"You know, Lana warned me about you...."

"Oh?"

"Said once you latched onto something you were like a damn pitbull. I could see it. If you suddenly dropped dead you'd probably just come back as a ghost and keep right on asking me why I'm cooking, wouldn't you?"

Mia made her I'm-only-going-to-be-sweet-for-one-more-question face. "Absolutely. So?"

Diego turned off the gas and moved the pan to a cold burner. He turned and looked Mia in the eye. "I got Dahlia Hawthorne to agree to come talk to me."

Mia felt the smile drop off her lips. "You what?"

"She approached me, actually. Said she wanted to set things straight." He dumped his wooden spoon into the sink. "I think I can get her to confess."

"You really think she's going to do that?" Mia crossed her arms over her chest. "If I'm a kitten, Diego, she's a snake. You know that."

Diego tilted his head. "I thought you'd be happy."

She sighed. "I am. Really, I am. The thought of being able to wrap this up at last..." Her fingers dug into her upper arms. "That would be wonderful. But I don't trust her." Mia narrowed her eyes. "Not one tiny bit. She wouldn't just meet you for no reason. She'll have some agenda."

His hand slipped against her waist, followed the curve of her body to the place where the small of her back met the swell of her buttocks. "And I've got mine. I'm a big boy, kitten. Little snakes don't scare me."

She reached around him, slipped her hands into his back pockets and pulled him closer to her. His palm rubbed gently against her back, and she felt a little of the tension of the day easing out of her. Mia let herself smile again. "Kittens and snakes." She shook her head gently. "What, no coffee metaphors?"

He pressed harder against her; his body was hard and lean and warm, and she leaned into the strength of him. His lips moved against her ear, his voice dark and deep: "She'll taste the bitterness of her just rewards like the acid burn of a bad gas-station coffee."

Mia laughed. "You're so weird." She turned her head to face him; his mouth was so close to her own she could feel his breath on her lips. "But thanks," she whispered, and closed the last of the distance between them.

At first it was a chaste kiss, and then it was so much more; her tongue traced the seal of his lips and he opened up to her, meeting her cautious exploration with a passionate joust of his own. His hands clutched at her, and she suddenly broke the kiss so that she could hold him close, hug him and bury her face in his neck and smell the mix of cologne and salty, musky skin. She loved the way he smelled, like her hands after she'd held a strong cup of coffee, like wood in the sun. "It would be so good," she breathed, "if this was finally over. I think... I think I could do it again. Set foot back in the courtroom. If she was finally behind bars."

He pressed his forehead against hers. "I'll never get why you let her keep you out."

Mia turned her face so that their cheeks rested together. Their first fight and almost all their fights since had been about that, about the fact that she'd turned herself into a high-paid paper pusher since losing Terry Fawles' case. She didn't want to fight.

Diego's fingers tightened in the fabric of her jacket. "That's why I've got to see her tomorrow. I'm going to get her to confess. Then you won't have that excuse." He poked his pointer finger into her breastbone, then flattened his hand, tracing the curve of the tops of her breasts. "Then it'll be Armando and Fey, conquering the courtroom, more perfect than coffee and cream. We'll make any prosecutor shake like he's had three cups too many."

Mia laughed and pulled him into another kiss. "My hero."

Diego held her a little bit away, looking into her eyes. "We both know you don't need a hero, kitten."

Mia shook her head, not willing to agree with him, not willing to confess how all that he implied terrified her and tantalized her at once. She had fancied herself Terry Fawles' champion and fallen flat on her face. All she had now was her hatred of Dahlia. That, and the vision of herself that she sometimes saw in Diego Armando's eyes.

She hadn't cried since that day in the courtroom, not since hearing his words: "The only time a lawyer can cry is when it's all over."

So Mia Fey had swallowed her tears and turned instead to Diego's strength. Sometimes she thought less of herself for it. Most days she didn't care. She put her hours in at Grossberg's and then she re-immersed herself in finding ways to nail Dahlia Hawthorne to the cross she so deserved. And when she was worn out and exhausted from it, she could let herself fall, and Diego would be there to catch her.

Diego summoned her back from her thoughts by caressing her cheek. His fingertips slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, drawing her close, until their lips met again. This time they bypassed gentle and exploratory, went straight into needy and hungry; she felt the burn of his stubble against her bottom lip.

He moved his hand down past the hem of her skirt and then back up, but underneath her skirt now, rucking it up around her waist high enough to reveal the top of her stockings. She gasped against his mouth as his fingers slipped against the inside of her thighs.

"What about dinner?" she breathed, but she was already wrapping her legs around him as he moved her up against the dishwasher.

"It'll keep," he growled against her throat before he kissed her hard against her pulse. His arms were tight around her as he lifted her up onto the countertop.

She watched with her lip caught in her teeth as Diego slid down onto his knees, tugging down her stockings as he went. She pointed her toes for him as he approached her ankles; he yanked the stockings free with one vicious tug and tossed them almost spitefully behind him. His hands, resting on her inner thighs, moved her legs wider apart; she held her breath a moment as he leaned in, and then his mouth was on her, his tongue exploring her. She sighed and put her hands into his dark hair, felt the warmth of his scalp as she urged him on. He was good, too good, his tongue making her entire body sing. She sang, too, sang his name so loud she was probably bothering the neighbors as he made her come not once but three times.

Mia reached for him when he finally got back on his feet.

"I need you," she murmured, her fingers hooking in his belt and dragging him towards her.

He clasped the buckle, undoing it even as he leaned in for another kiss. But before their lips met, he said, "You don't. You are a tiger, Mia Fey."

She laughed. "That's not what I meant." She tugged the belt free and undid his fly.

"I know," he said, and kissed her. Then he was pushing into her, moving inside her, and she let everything fall away, all her worry for him, all her fear of herself, everything. Let it all become urgency and pleasure, need and energy and friction and passion.

He growled her name against her neck as he came, and she loved him for the way it made her feel, strong and beautiful and amazing.

They stayed awkwardly positioned for too long, the edge of the countertop digging into the back of her thighs, Diego braced against a cupboard handle with one knee. She felt his breathing slow on the damp skin of her shoulder, felt her own heart returning to its normal rhythm. She stroked the broad muscles of his back through his shirt, sweat pasting the silk to his skin.

"I'll do it," she said softly, her eyes following the line of the ceiling.

He turned his head slightly to look at her face. "You'll do what, kitten?"

"Even if she won't confess. I'll go back to court. I'll ask Grossberg to assign me as co-counsel on your next case."

He smiled, genuine and broad, curving his eyes. "Good girl!" Then he pulled her into a tight hug, so tight it almost squashed the air from her lungs; but she didn't mind. She hugged him back just as hard.

"Hungry?" he asked, when they finally let go of each other.

Mia smiled and nodded. She slid off the counter and tugged her skirt down, watching him get back to his pots and pans. If they were lucky, if Dahlia really was ready to turn herself in, maybe they'd be doing this again tomorrow, a real celebration dinner. And if not... if not, Mia wasn't going to let one little girl stop her.


End file.
